


The reluctant princess affair

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Duelling, Fencing, Friendship, Gen, Partnership, Royalty, Spies & Secret Agents, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:07:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29476701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Solo and Kuryakin are tasked with escorting a young American woman who is the sole heir to be crowned the next ruler of a small European principality.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	The reluctant princess affair

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the PicFic photo challenge on the gen writing site, Section VII. on Livejournal. It's a weekly challenge giving writers a new photo prompt each Tuesday, and they must write a minimum 500 word story based on the prompt (no maximum) Stories are supposed to post every Tuesday.

The Prompt:

Illya Kuryakin felt sorry for the girl, being uprooted from her home in Lower Manhattan and having to travel to a strange country. None of this was her choice and apparently no one had bothered to ask her what she wanted.

He could relate to her dilemma as that’s how he was treated by his former Soviet Masters. He’d been sent to UNCLE under the pretense of having a choice, but he knew if he refused he would no doubt be sent on an assignment that would have taken his life; they’d make an example out of him somehow, of that he was sure.

Though he was still expendable with UNCLE, he had been even more so with military intelligence back in the USSR. A second thought would not be given when it came to sacrificing an agent...for nothing, if not just to make a point, a lesson as it were to others.

His work with the Command though risky, was different. Alexander Waverly would never deliberately send an agent to his death to make a point, and for that the Russian was grateful. 

Illya divested himself of such thoughts and focused on the assignment at hand.

Their charge’s destination was Derissa, a small principality that was surrounded by France, Switzerland and Italy. It wasn’t a well known country, and was similar to Ingolstein, * though a bit smaller. Still if one blinked, it could be easily missed.

Derissa was however, well known for its fine apricot brandy; it being their main export. Other than that, there was nothing remarkable about the kingdom. It was picturesque, but you could find that in a lot of places around the world.

The principality, until recently, was ruled by Prince Louis Maté-Friedrich; a monarch somewhat noted for his profligacies both financially and sexually. He was a playboy in every sense of the work, frequently traveling across Europe and to Monte Carlo. 

Sadly at the age of thirty- four, the prince died in a tragic skiing accident in the Swiss Alps. He had no spouse, and surprisingly, given his many liaisons with the fairer sex, no heir was found. There was however, a cousin who lived in America, precisely in New York city.

That cousin had recently passed away as well, leaving an only daughter. A young girl who at the tender age of seventeen discovered she was now a princess and would inherit the throne when she came of age upon her eighteenth birthday.

The agents were tasked with escorting Eloïse Béatrice Aurélia Maté, now Princess of Derissa, to her new home.

“One would think she’d be excited,” Napoleon remarked. 

He and his partner waited patiently in front of a simple brownstone located in the West Village. Behind the two men, parked curbside was a sleek silver-cloud Rolls Royce limousine sporting gold and blue diplomatic flags of Derissa on its front fenders.

It seemed Miss Maté was delaying her departure, stalling perhaps.

“Not when you are being ripped from everything you know, and thrust into a world of strangers, being forced to live in a place that in no way resembles your home...you forg a surprise, as I have experience in that area,” Kuryakin said.

The girl wasn’t happy about it at all; leaving her friends behind and the only home she’d ever known. A few of her belongings were being shipped ahead with the only thing familiar left to her was her dog, a small bit of white fluff named Spot, an all American mutt, though there wasn’t a spot on him.

Much to Illya’s relief, the beast was put into a pet cage, though Spot didn’t look like he could harm a fly. He was only a year old, so he was still essentially a puppy.

The woman Miss Maté had lived with after her father’s death was a friend of the family; a robust personage named Mrs. Fanucci. The girl’s mother had left years ago when Eloise was just a child and couldn’t be located upon the death of the father. The girl had just turned eighteen, but was apparently a slightly immature for her age as well as being a bit of a tomboy.

The goodbyes with Mrs. Fanucci were tearful and loud; the woman wiping her reddened cheeks with her white apron, and she stood at the curb waving like a madwoman as the car drove off.

“That’s a nice looking dog you have there,” Napoleon said.

“Would you like to pet him?” Eloise asked.

“I think it best we leave him in the cage,” he winked,”my friend and dogs don’t exactly get along. He actually has a morbid fear of them.”

The girl, a pretty thing with a wild mop top of unruly golden curls, gave Illya an odd look. 

“You’re afraid of dogs...a little thing like Spot? Don’t you think that’s kinda weird for a spy?”

Kuryakin’s nostrils flared, that was the only reaction he gave her at first. He was not pleased that his partner had revealed such personal information about him, though he at least knew Napoleon meant nothing by it.

“Having nearly been killed by dogs a number of times in my life, I think I am justified in my dislike of them,” he finally huffed.

“Oh I’m sorry,”Eloise said. “Spot really wouldn’t hurt you, I promise.” Before anyone realized what she was doing; she opened the carrier, took hold of the pooch and deposited it in Illya’s lap.

The look of horror in his widened eyes was obvious, but Eloise insisted.

“Just let him sit there...see, he’s not biting. Go ahead and pet him, like this,” she demonstrated before grabbing Kuryakin’s hand and forced him to stroke the dog’s head and back. 

To Illya’s relief, nothing happened. Spot made himself comfortable, laying down and panting a little before closing his eyes.

The Russian, known for striking terror in the hearts of enemy agents with a single blue-eye stare remained rigid, and once Eloise took away her hand, he continued to gently stroke the dog’s back. Soothing the savage beast as it were.

The trip to Kennedy Airport took longer than anticipated, and Napoleon watched in amusement as Illya finally laid his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

“Kids...or rather, Kuryakin and dogs,” he mused to himself. “Nothing like a moving vehicle to soothe them both and send them to sleep.”

“So your highness, why aren’t excited about going to Derissa? You’re going to have a wonderful life there, one you could never have dreamed of in New York.”

“I’m going to miss my friends and Mrs. Fanucci. Except for Spot, they’re all I have.”

“You'll make new friends.”

“I suppose,”she shrugged,” but it still won’t be home. I don’t like this; I don’t want to go.”

“As Princess of Derissa you could have your friends and Mrs. Fanucci visit you,” he winked. 

“Really?” Her eyes opened wide with surprise.

“You’ll even have a private jet at your disposal, however, the one we’re going to take today, if we ever get to the airport, belongs to the U.N.C.L.E.

I assure you, you’ll be able to do things you’ve never dreamed of, your highness.”

“Wow. Maybe this isn’t going to be that bad after all Mr. Solo,” she smiled.”Thank you!”

“My pleasure highness, and thank you for helping to get my partner over his fear of dogs.”

One of Kuryakin’s eyes popped open, as apparently he wasn’t sleeping at all.

Napoleon smiled. Illya was the only man he knew who could scowl with a single eye. 

They arrived at the airport, a relief for Illya as the dog was returned its kennel cage as they boarded the private jet. 

There wasn’t a terrible amount of luggage as the agents had only one suitcase each. Eloise had only a small carry on case, as she would be given an entirely new wardrobe once she arrived in Derissa.

The hostess welcomed them aboard as the crew stowed Spot’s carrier in the rear of the plane.

“Can’t I let him out?” Eloise moaned. 

“Apologies, your Highness,” the hostess smiled,”but I’m afraid your dog needs to stay in his cage.”

The girl looked to Solo with consternation.” I thought you said I could do anything I want? Why can’t Spot sit in my lap with me?”

Napoleon blushed.”I didn’t quite put it that way, but within reason your grace, it’s for Spot’s safety.”

“Yes, the flight could be rough and sometimes things get tossed about,” Illya added. “You would not want your dog to be hurt would you?”

“Tossed about? Eloise’s eyes went wide.”Could...could we crash?” She was excited but nervous about her first trip in an airplane, but Illya’s statement made her nervousness go off the chart.

It was Solo’s turn to scowl at his partner for frightening the girl.

“No highness everything will be fine, “ Napoleon reassured her.

He reached over, fastening Eloise’s lap belt with a smile.

“Umm, thank you Mr. Solo,” the girl returned his smile with a coy look, batting her eyelashes.

“There now, that’s better isn’t it, hmm? Nice and safe,” Napoleon said. He settled back in his seat on the opposite side of the plane, next to his partner.

“Really, must you?” Illya canted his head towards him.

‘Must I what?”

“Flirt with every female on the face of the earth? For pity’s sake Napoleon she is only a child.”

“I wasn’t flirting with her.”

“You really have no idea when you are even doing it? Someday I am going to carry a hidden camera and film your day’s interactions with women. You never turn it off, and do not say to me ‘when you have got it, you have got it, and that you have it.”

“Well gee, I don’t have to as you just said it for me.”

Illya shook his head before crossing his arms and closing his eyes as the jet began to taxi in preparation for takeoff.

The flight would take nearly nine hours and he figured he’d catch up on his sleep, as was his habit when flying. This being a private flight with the pilot, copilot and hostess were all employed by UNCLE and that meant nothing could happen, for once.

The hostess served them a nice meal of Salisbury steak, baked potato and asparagus with hollandaise sauce.

Even Spot had his own steak dinner as well.

Illya returned to his napping, as did the princess, while Napoleon read a book on Derissa, well that and chatting up the hostess from time to time.. He finally decided to catch a few winks as well and closed his eyes, dreaming of a date he had to cancel with the ever delicious Candy Sweets back at headquarters in New York.

Six hours into the flight the hostess woke Kuryakin and Solo, whispering to them.

“Sorry gentlemen, but the pilot is reporting a problem. We are going to have to land at Heathrow.”

“What is wrong?” Illya asked; he was fully awake in an instant.

“The pilot didn’t say, would you care to speak to him?”

“Yes please.”

Napoleon chimed in. “Don’t say anything to her grace. No need to upset her again, just let her sleep,” Napoleon eyed his partner.

Illya quietly rose and headed for the cockpit, pushing aside the grey curtains as he entered.

“Captain, what seems to be the problem? May I be of assistance?”

“We’re having problems with the instrument panel. See?” He pointed to the instrumentation that continued to blink on and off.”

“Hmm, that is not good.”

“No kidding sir. We’ve already radioed Heathrow and are preparing to make our descent. I just hope the panel holds up so we can safely land. I suggest you return to your seat and make sure everyone is wearing their safety belts.”

“Thank you Captain.

The captain turned to his copilot, whispering, “Kuryakin is the master of understatement. Like we don’t know it’s a problem.”

“Hey he’s qualified to fly this rig, along with choppers and I heard he’s even flown a MIG; his offer of help was genuine.

“Whatever.”

Illya returned to the cabin, without hearing the conversation as he was intent on advising Solo of the problem. 

“I suggest we wake up her highness, and simply tell her we are making an unscheduled layover. I will go see to Spot to make sure his cage is secure..

“You do that,” Napoleon said. He smiled, given the fact his partner was concerned about the dog. He turned to the princess, giving her a light tap on the arm.

“Highness? You need to wake up.”

“Are we there already?”

“Not yet. We need to make a stopover in London for a minor maintenance issue.”

“Something’s broken?” Her eyes opened wide.

“Oh no, this is normal on a flight of this length. A stop over is SOP,” he lied.

“SOP? What’s that?”

“Standard operating procedure.”

The jet made a successful landing and while Napoleon escorted the princess, along with Spot for a walk, Illya remained behind to keep an eye on the repairs.

After some time, the U.N.C.L.E. the maintenance chief looked rather concerned.

“What is wrong?” Illya asked.

“Mister Kuryakin, this instrumentation looks like it’s been tampered with. The pilot was lucky that he made it here. If he tried to continue on without stopping, there was a good chance the jet would have gone off course, run out of fuel and likely crashed.”

Illya pursed his lips, other than that he gave no other reaction.

“Thank you Mister Rollings. How soon will the repair take?”

“Not long. I just have to rewire the instrument panel. And before you ask, I will test it several times before I give the okay.”

“Please check out the entire plane as well,” Illya asked.

“I’ll get my crew right on it sir.”

“They are vetted, correct?”

“Absolutely,” Rollings saluted.

“Have someone from Security oversee the work.”

“You don’t trust me and my crew?”

“Mister Rollings, I mean no offence, but I have been an agent long enough to know to trust no one. “

Rollings mumbled under his bread,”Boy that man has a way of rubbing people the wrong way. Must be that Soviet training of his.”

Illya smiled as he overheard the comment. He said nothing as he made himself scarce within the hanger. Keeping out of view; he opened his communicator and contacted his partner.

“Solo here.”

“Napoleon, we have a problem. Someone tampered with the instrumentation on the jet. The maintenance chief is resolving it and I am having the entire jet inspected for any other problems.”

Solo frowned upon hearing that news. He sighed before responding.

“Keep me abreast of the maintenance issues. I’m taking the princess for some lunch.”

“Speaking of lunch…”

“Yes Illya, I know you’re hungry. I’ll bring you something.”

“Thank you. Kuryakin out.”

The maintenance check proved negative and the private jet was given the thumbs up to continue its flight. Solo contacted Waverly about the issue with the plane.

“That is troublesome Mister Solo. I’ll have Security look into the maintenance crew back in New York. Keep me informed, Waverly out.”

“Short and sweet as usual,” Napoleon said to himself. He watched as the princess approached with Spot; the animal having finished doing his business.

“You know you’ll have royal dog-walkers for Spot,”he winked.

“You mean I can’t walk him anymore?”

“Oh I’m sure you can if you want, though you’ll probably be escorted by members of your royal security.”

“Hmmm, life’s going to really be different, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so, but it’ll be for the better, I’m sure.” 

Eloise was a bit of a tom-boy and he could just imagine the gentrification process she’d be put through. Still, she had a full year before she would be officially crowned upon her eighteenth birthday. 

Solo, the princess and Spot reappeared with Napoleon carrying a brown paper sack, with a few grease spots on it.

“Here you go tovarisch, an order of fish and chips with extra grease.”

“How generous of you,”Illya snatched the bag from his partner’s hand, giving it a quick sniff. The smell brought back some pleasant memories from when he was stationed here, first as a GRU agent and then with the U.N.C.L.E.

Napoleon's communicator warbled and before answering he stepped away out of earshot.

"Mister Solo, I’ve had Security to do a check on all of our mechanics involved with the Lear jets. Someone had to be working at this end to have sabotaged the control panel, and indeed that was the case as one of the mechanics has been reported missing and seems to have disappeared. Although it is an assumption to believe he's the culprit, we have discovered that he has familial connections to Derissa. Unfortunately once you and Mister Kuryakin deliver the umm, package, your roles in this affair, I'm afraid, will come to an end."

"Yes sir, I understand." The reluctance in Solo's voice was obvious.

"It's unfortunate that Derissa is not a member nation of the Command, otherwise we could investigate. That is an order by the way, no interference. You and Mister Kuryakin will return immediately after your task is complete. Waverly out."

"That's that,"Napoleon sighed. He tucked his communicator in his breast pocket and pulled aside his partner, filling him in on the situation. Needless to say Kuryakin was not pleased, as he said in the past. "We go where we are told and do as we are told."

"No need to remind me, tovarisch."

The plane arrived at Derissa without further incident and they were met by a diplomatic limousine on the tarmac of the small, private airport.

Rather than turning the princess over to her security, Napoleon and Illya insisted upon accompanying her on the short drive to her what was essentially her palace.

As the limo moved along the cobblestone road through the village, men, women and children lined the route, cheering and waving white handkerchiefs in welcome.

“This is for you,”Napoleon said.”Perhaps you should wave back at them as they are your people.”

“My people?”

“The residents of Derissa, your subjects,”Illya said.

“Oh.” Eloise started waving excitedly. 

“Whoa, easy,” Napoleon took hold of her arm. “You’re a princess and your actions should be a little more genteel, and besides you’ll tire yourself out if you keep waving like that. Have you ever seen films of Queen Elizibeth waving from her carriage?”

“Yes, she kind of waves from the wrist, turning it like this,”Eloise demonstrated.

“That’s perfect,” Napoleon smiled,”Now wave to them.

They arrived at the castle, nestled amidst a small forest with the mountains of Switzerland off in the distance as a backdrop. The impression the castle gave was that it was something out of a fairytale. 

  
  


As they exited the limo they were met by royal guardsmen and a gentleman dressed in a regal dark blue velvet suit. Draped down from his neck on a heavy gold chain was a round medallion that one could only assume was the seal of Derissa. 

On his lapel was a blue and white rosette, the colors of Derissa.

“Welcome your highness,” he bowed as he took Eloise’s hand. “I am Lord Hugo Antoine de Montfort, the Regent for Derissa.” His hair was black as a raven's feather, slicked back and revealing a widow's peak above his forehead. He was pale, beady-eyed with a carefully trimmed goatee.

“Regent?” The girl asked.

Napoleon leaned over, whispering to her. “He’s the person appointed to administer the country because the monarch is a minor or in this case absent...or I should say deceased.”

“Oh, I guess thank you Mister…”

Napoleon cleared his throat.

“Thank you my Lord. You’ll have to forgive my ignorance as I’m new to being a princess.”

“There will be more than enough assistance for your Highness; you do have a year to prepare for the royal life before your coronation. Now may I inquire as to whom are these gentlemen?”

“Solo, Napoleon Solo of the U.N.C.L.E. and this is my partner Illya Kuryakin.” Illya gave the man a slight bow.

“I thought you were merely escorting her highness on her flight here.”

“Yes, but there are matters we need to discuss with you in private,”Illya said.

De Montfort huffed. “Very well, if you’ll follow me. The princess must be shown to her suite and given suitable clothing to wear.” He eyed her casual style of dress with disdain, thinking she looked like a mere peasant. 

“What about Spot?” She suddenly asked.

“Spot? What is that, Highness?”

“He’s my dog.”She pointed to the carry case that had been placed on the ground behind her.

“A dog?" He sniffed,"It can be placed in the kennel with the hounds I suppose.”

Eloise became visibly upset upon hearing that.

“Spot is the princess’ companion and should remain with her,” Illya interjected.

“Yes, he stays with me,”Eloise took a decidedly assurant tone of voice.

She remembered what Napoleon had told her about being able to do what she wanted, within reason. Keeping Spot with her wasn’t unreasonable at all.

“As you wish, your highness,” De Montfort bowed. “This way please.” He was being rather curt.

They were escorted into the castle where the girl’s personal lady in waiting was introduced. She was an attractive young brunette, perhaps in her thirties, named Lady Vivienne Maizière.

“If you’ll follow me, your Majesty, I’ll be taking you to your private chambers.”

She seemed much nicer to Eloise than Lord De Montfort as the girl turned princess followed her, refusing to relinquish Spot in his carry case,

Once alone, the agents met with the Regent in a large opulent drawing room, filled with large paintings, a grand piano topped with a gold candelabra and many other expensive accoutrements. Suspended from an elegant ceiling was a huge crystal chandelier. It was there they informed De Montfort of a possible attempt on the princess’ life.

“Oh dear, that is dreadful, however,"he seemed to feign interest," I assure you gentlemen that the princess will be under constant protection here in our country. Now if you’ll excuse me I must see to her highness. The guards will escort you out to the limo. Have a safe flight back to the United States.”

Neither man said a word until they were outside and headed straight to the limousine. 

“Nothing like being summarily dismissed,”Napoleon muttered.

“I do not like that De Montfort,”Illya said,”nor do I trust him.” His eyes showed his lack of truthfulness.

“Tsk. I agree, but unfortunately we can’t do anything since we’re out of the picture. I did, however, tell Eloise to contact me if there were any problems. She has my card.”

“I would hate to find out about something amiss after the fact, but as you said, we can not do anything now that the girl is in her own country and under protection here.

The return flight to New York was uneventful and they heard nothing from Eloise until a year later when both agents received invitations to the princess’ coronation. With Waverly’s permission, they left for the ceremony, bringing with them their best tails and top hats.

One couldn’t wear just any old tuxedo to the coronation of a head of state.

They arrived at the castle and were shown to their rooms to freshen up. The coronation was scheduled for that evening so there was plenty of time to shower, shave and prepare themselves.

Trays of light hors d'oeuvres and bowls of fruit had been placed in their room, which pleased the Russian to no end as it would be hours before the coronation and banquet would take place.

Finally, it came time to leave, and Napoleon knocked on his partner’s door. It opened and there Kuryakin stood in his black tails, white shirt, white bow tie; he was wearing white gloves and a red sash as well. He wore the medal of honor awarded to him (as well as Solo) by Chairman Georgi Koz, except now it hung around his neck on a red ribbon.

“A bit on the fancy side tovarisch, isn’t it?

“For an unusual occasion and given my heritage, the sash is apropos. The medal completes the look as it came from my country.”

“Your heritage? Soviets wear sashes?” 

“No you blockhead, I am, by heritage, nobility. You forget my paternal grandfather was a Count.” 

“I thought you didn’t take stock in that?”

“For this instance, I do. Now I think we should get going. We do not want to be late.”

They headed out into a vast corridor filled with chandeliers and golden cherubic statuary, perhaps having made a wrong turn and it was there they saw her.

Eloise had matured into a regal beauty. She was dressed in a magnificent strapless beige beaded, silk gown with matching full length gloves. 

Her hair was pinned up in elegant tresses. Gone was the moptop tomboy they’d met a year ago.

“Princess, you’ve...well, you’re stunning,” Solo smiled at her.

“Napoleon, Illya! You did come. I’m so relieved.” She gave them each a chaste peck on the cheek.

“Relieved? Why is there a problem?” Solo asked.

“Yes and no…”she appeared visibly upset. “I just found out that as soon as I’m crowned Princess of Derissa, I have to get married.”

“Married to whom?” Illya asked.

“De Montfort. He’s the only one of suitable noble birth in the entire kingdom, that’s apparently why he was made Regent in the first place.

He’s awful, a cold hearted ambitious man and there’s nothing I can do to stop the marriage. If it doesn’t take place then I can’t remain the Princess of Derissa, and De Montfort takes over, permanently.” 

She started to cry.

“Now now Princess, don’t cry. Illya and I will figure out something,” he dabbed her cheeks with his handkerchief. You’re going to spoil your beautiful makeup.”

She sighed. “Thank you, I hope you can help.”

“Your highness I think you need to get going, don’t want to be late for your coronation,”Napoleon smiled.

She nodded, giving them a little wave before disappearing down the long corridor.

“I wonder how she got away from her security?”Illya asked as he and Solo walked side by side.

Behind them there was the sound of footfalls; it was two members of the royal guard dressed in pale blue military-style jackets and black pants. Atop their heads were white pith helmets bedecked with a matching blue feather in the blue cloth headband.

It was obvious they were in a panic looking for the princess.

“She went that way,”Solo pointed.

“Thank you sir,” they called out as they dashed past the UNCLE agents.

Napoleon and Illya made it to the great hall where the coronation was to take place.

They were shown to their seats, surprisingly close to the throne...no doubt this was Eloise’s doing. Everyone there, among whom were numbers of beautiful and richly-dressed ladies, as well as gentlemen in their tuxedos.

Trumpets sounded and an honor guard appeared at the entrance to the hall, behind them was the princess.

She walked slowly, regally with her head held high as she approached the dais where the throne was set. She carefully climbed the three steps, and turned to face the crowd there to witness the ceremony. 

A Bishop clothed in ornate golden robes and mitre stepped forward, beside him was a young boy holding a red pillow and on top of it was a magnificent emerald and diamond tiara.

It was worn by the last Princess of Derissa seventy-five years ago.

The princess recited her oath, and she was then handed a golden orb and sceptre, the symbols of her sovereignty. Apparently just as in Great Britain, it meant the princess would have constitutional and representational duties.

Lastly the crown was placed on her head and at that moment everyone present applauded.

“And now Highness, we have another ceremony to attend to,”Lord De Montfort spoke up.

The bishop stepped forward, holding a leather bound bible.

“Will the couple please face me?”

Eloise handed over the orb and sceptre, and she clearly looked upset.

The Bishop said what he had to say and finally reached the point in the ceremony where he asked ‘if anyone objects to the marriage, they should speak now or forever hold their peace.”

The great hall was so silent that one could have heard a pin drop, that was until Illya rose and said, “I object.”

“How dare you,” Hugo De Montfort hissed,”you American peasant!”

“Firstly I am not American; I am Russian and my name is Count Illya Nickovich Kuryakin, son of Nicholaí Aleksandrovich Kuryakin, and grandson of Count Aleksander Sergeivich Kuryakin of the court of the last Czar of all the Russias, Nicholas II... I am also a blood relation of the Romanovs, and my noble credentials permit me to challenge you for the hand of Eloïse Béatrice Aurélia Maté, Princess of Derissa.”

Napoleon’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as he had no idea Illya was going to pull this move

Hugo grabbed a sabre from one of the guards, and as Illya stepped forward, he did the same.

“Engarde you fool,” De Montfort called out. “I am very accomplished at the duel. You should withdraw your objection or you will surely die as there is no one who matches my skill with a blade.”

Illya flashed a feral grin as the man had no idea that he was too a master of the sabre, having been instructed by Gregorovich, a legend in Hungarian fencing. Kuryakin had once been offered to join the American Olympic team, as well as a fencing instructor position at Salle Santorelli in New York as the fencing Master there recognized his skill with a blade.**

The crowd shrank away with a gasp.

“Are you sure about this tovarisch?”

“Absolutely, now step away as this is going to be a quite aggressive duel.”

Hugo charged Illya and there was a loud ‘clang’ as metal met metal.

They moved back and forth in a deadly dance, advancing and retreating in every direction in the great hall. De Montfort slashed the head from one of the marble statues before he managed to cut Illya’s right thigh, but it wasn’t a serious enough wound to stop the Russian. He lunged, urged on by the pain and cut Hugo’s forearm.

Perhaps the sight of blood filled Kuryakin with adrenaline and he charged, pounding Hugo’s blade again and again as the man tried to parry and riposte, but it was useless as the Russian had Hugo completely on the defensive, and right where Illya wanted him

The man stumbled backwards and suddenly Spot appeared out of nowhere and bit into Hugo’s pant leg, holding on with such ferocity, as De Montfort tried to shake free of the growling dog. Though Spot was still a small white bit of fluff, he was tenacious.

It was a distraction that gave Illya the opening he needed, and with a swipe of his blade, he brought the point of his sword to Hugo’s throat.

“You have lost sir.”

The man dropped his sabre, acknowledging that he had indeed been beaten.

“I suggest you not only release her Highness from your marriage claim, but that you also leave Derissa and never return.”

“Take him away and lock him up! “ The princess called out.

The guests erupted in loud cheers and applause as apparently De Montfort was not well liked in Derissa.

Illya stepped up to Eloise and knelt, placing his sword in front of her on the dais.

“Rise Count Kuryakin,” she said, offering her hand to him.

He bowed before kissing it and whispering to her, “Highness, I suggest you do away with the marriage clause, as you are now Princess Regnant and the head of state; your word will be law.”

“You don’t want to marry me Illya?”

“Umm, no insult intended, but I do not.”

She smiled. “Good, because...no offence, I don’t want to marry you either.”

Illya bowed again as he stepped away, retreating back to where his partner stood.

“I Eloïse Béatrice Aurélia Maté, Princess of Derissa and your sovereign ruler, do hereby declare the marriage edict requiring a princess marry upon her coronation is null and void. No prince has ever been required to do so, so why should a princess?”

Again, her people applauded their approval.

Later that evening after the royal dinner, there was a ball held in the same great hall.

Both Napoleon and Illya took their turns dancing with the princess. but it was Kuryakin's waltz with her was of particular interest to the other guest. Such whispers saying that they made the perfect handsome couple were continually hear. Once Illya and the princess's dance concluded, he bowed to her and another gentleman stepped up, asking her to dance.

Illya found himself surrounded by a number of beautiful women in flowing gowns, vying for the Russian's attention. At the moment he was quite the celebrity, which annoyed Napoleon to no end.

Solo finally looked at his watch; it was midnight and time to leave. He extricated his partner from the bevy of beauties and the agents retreated to their rooms to change for their red-eye flight back to New York. 

Outside, a limousine was ready and waiting for them and as they seated themselves, they spotted a bottle of champagne chilling for them along with a note of thanks.

“Illya,” Napoleon opened and poured their glasses of bubbly,” I knew about the Count thing with your family, but now you’re telling me that you’re actually related to the late Czar?” ***

“Only quite distantly, on my mother’s side and again, it is something meaningless. I revealed a bit of my family lineage merely to stop De Montfort. As you may recall the princess did say that one had to be of noble birth to qualify as a suitable consort. What better challenger than a Count related to Czar Nicholas II?”

“And what if Eloise had taken you up on your offer of marriage?”

“I really had not thought about that possibility, and why fret over it since it did not happen.”

“You got lucky there, tovarisch.”

“Yes, I suppose. If and when the day comes that I meet someone and wish to marry and have children, then I will marry for love. Honestly though, given the life expectancy of an UNCLE field agent is tenuous at best; I doubt that will ever happen.” 

Illya crossed his arms in front of himself and promptly ended the conversation by closing his eyes. He just wanted to sleep.

Napoleon did the same...

They arrived in New York early the next morning and both men retreated to their apartments to relax in their own beds and catch up on their sleep.

The next day Napoleon and Illya returned to headquarters, filling in Mister Waverly of the incident at the coronation.

“It comes as no surprise that Hugo De Montfort had his ambitions," the Old Man said as he puffed on his pipe." I have kept abreast of the goings on in Derissa and much of it has been suspicious. However, I had no idea of the existence of this marriage clause. Your solution was very clever Mister Kuryakin, clever indeed. However, you were lucky that the young princess did not take you up on your unusual proposal of marriage.”

“Yes sir,”Illya blushed.

“Well I am grateful as I would have been unhappy at losing my number two agent. Please keep that in mind in the future, young man.”

“I will sir.” Kuryakin’s face remained placid, considering the Old Man had reprimanded him, in a roundabout way.

“Any clue gentlemen as to who could have orchestrated the sabotage to our Learjet?”

“No sir, “Napoleon said, “but I suspect it was part of Hugo De Montfort’s plan. If the princess died, he would rule Derissa. If she lived and they were married, he would still be in a position of power.” Who knows, he might have eventually killed killed her to usurp her position as the head of state."

“It would not be presumptuous to believe the Regent thought Miss Maté was an air-headed child that he could control.” Illya added. "Apparently she is quite the opposite."

Yes, she proved herself otherwise,” Napoleon chimed in.

They received word that Hugo De Montfort had indeed left the country in disgrace and had taken up residence in northern Italy at a villa he owned there. That put him uncomfortably close to border of Derissa so they would have to keep a watchful eye on him.

After a few weeks and completing several assignments, Kuryakin received a page from Communications on his desk intercom.  
  
“Sir, I have an incoming call from a Mrs. Fanucci, do you wish to accept it?”

“Go ahead.”

“Hello Mrs. Fanucci, how are you?” Illya spoke rather cheerfully into the telephone receiver.

“I’m fine Mister Kuryakin. I received a package from Derissa but it’s addressed to you. I guess they didn’t know where else to send it.”

“Could you come get it please? My darling Eloise has sent her private jet for me to come visit her and I don’t want to be late for my flight.”

Illya left immediately and retrieved a rather large package. He wished Mrs. Fanucci a safe flight and left her to finish preparing for her trip.

Returning to headquarters, his instincts told him to have the package x-rayed in case it was something explosive, potentially sent by Hugo De Montfort.

When it was deemed safe, Illya went to his shared office with Solo and there he opened the package in the presence of his partner.

There were a half-dozen bottles of Apricot brandy as well as a letter from the princess, thanking him for his gallantry. There was also a smaller blue velvet box which he opened as well; he lifted a gold medallion hanging from a pale blue ribbon.

“The rest of the letter says, “Illya Nickovich Kuryakin is hereby awarded ‘The Order of the Apricot, for his bravery and service to the Princess of Derissa.”

“A medal? You get a medal?” Napoleon snickered. 

“Well I did risk my life to help the princess.”

“Gee I wonder if she gave Spot a medal too, after all if he hadn’t helped, you might not have won the duel.

“Cute Napoleon, very cute. Now may we go to lunch, I am hungry.”

“When are you never hungry?” Solo quipped.

“If it makes you happy, I will gladly buy lunch today in celebration of my being made a member of The Order of the Apricot.”

“Wow has getting another medal made you less cheap?”

“I am not cheap, I am frugal,” Illya had already said this many times to his partner and he was tiring of it.“Now do you want that lunch or not?”

“Hey, I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, tovarisch; I can't recall the last time you offered to pay."

Illya, getting in a little rub, hung the medallion around his neck by the blue ribbon.

“Show off,”Solo mumbled.

“For once, yes.” Illya smiled as he walked out the door to the grey corridor...

  
  


* reference to ‘The Round Table Affair’ Season 2/27

[** reference to “La Belle](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29468643)” 

***reference to [“Beginnings](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6767104/1/Beginnings)”


End file.
